Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Jay was sleeping through turbulence. Or he was trying to; he was too exhausted to care if the plane actually went down. When Mira’s voice cut through the haze, his eyes snapped open to a reality that felt much worse than a crash.
He was sprawled on the couch, still in yesterday’s clothes. His head throbbed like it was clamped in a vise, his eyes burning as they focused on Mira standing over him, shaking his shoulder.
“Jesus Christ, you asshole. I thought you were dead.”
She looked rough. Her face was a mess of black, blue, and red. A white splint stretched across her nose, and dark, finger-shaped bruises ran down her arms and around her neck. She wore an old rainbow tie-dyed shirt he recognized as Ava’s, hanging loosely on her thin frame.
“Hey…” Jay croaked. He struggled to sit up, a sharp pain lancing from his temple to his neck. “You okay?”
“I’m wondering if you’re okay. You look like shit.” Mira hissed through her teeth as she lowered herself onto the opposite cushion, moving like her ribs were made of glass.
“You don’t look so great either.”
Mira didn’t blink, her eyes scanning him like she was assessing damage. “Why are you drinking again?”
“Because I’m an alcoholic,” Jay replied dryly. “First rule’s acceptance, right?”
“Shut the fuck up.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. Why are you drinking again?”
“You’re starting this off strong.”
“Well, you’re self-sabotaging.”
“Why are you here?” he deflected.
“Because I live here.” Mira gestured around the condo. “Ava called David so he could drive me over.”
David. Of course. That man deserved a raise.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, well. We were both worried you’d do something stupid.”
“I didn’t do anything stupid,” Jay muttered, though the room was spinning fast enough to prove him wrong.
Mira looked pointedly around the condo. At him. At the state of both. “Sure about that?”
“I mean, I finished the bottle after she left,” he admitted. “That was probably stupid.”
“Figures. I could smell you from the elevator.” She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Ava came back pretty upset.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because she said you were cutting her off again.”
“I’m not cutting her off.”
Mira just sat there, her silence heavier than any accusation.
“What? I had a panic attack.” Jay pulled his knees to his chest, fixing his eyes on a stain on the rug. “Lost my shit. Couldn’t breathe. She didn’t need to be around that.”
“So you pushed her out instead.”
“I asked her to leave.”
“Same thing.” Mira leaned her head back against the upholstery. “You panicking isn’t some separate thing you can lock away, you know.”
When he didn’t respond, she sighed and studied the ceiling. Jay, in that moment, missed Ari with desperate intensity. Mira’s presence was comforting, but the absence of his brother felt like an anchor around his neck.
He leaned back, mirroring her, his eyes tracing the jagged ceiling’s cracks.
“When I get angry, I rage. I hit things, break things. People too, if they’re in the way.
” He felt her stiffen beside him. “And when I’m panicking, I get angry to avoid falling apart completely.
It’s not...safe for her to be around that.
And looking at the state of you—” He nodded toward her bruised face. “It’s not safe for you either.”
“You’re not the one who hit me.”
“Doesn’t matter, I—”
She reached over and pressed her palm over his mouth, cutting him off. “You break things because Dad modeled that for us. Ari does it too. You both get so mad you break your damn selves along the way.”
She released him and pulled the couch blanket into her lap, spreading it wide enough to cover his feet too. As she adjusted it, the sleeve of her shirt slipped, revealing the old scars on her forearms—faded white lines in uniform rows.
She’d tried to break herself too.
“If you isolate yourself, you’re only making things worse,” she continued.
“Isn’t it better if the bad person stays away so no one gets hurt?”
“You’re not a bad person, dumbass. You’re a mess. Everyone’s a mess.” She offered a ghost of a smile. “And newsflash: you’re not the center of the universe. We get to decide if we want to be around you or not.”
They fell into a heavy silence. Jay’s headache pulsed behind his eyes, and he thought about getting up to find aspirin. Or maybe a drink. Then he remembered he’d drained the vodka.
Probably for the best.
“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt in all my bullshit.”
Mira groaned, touching her nose gingerly. “Stop with the ‘everything’s my fault’ crap. You’re exhausting.”
“You sound like Ava.”
“Good. Means she was trying to knock some sense into you.” Mira shifted, wincing.
“And I’m sorry Riley hurt you, Mir.”
She shrugged, though the movement looked like it cost her. “I’m sorry him hurting me fucked up your career.”
“I ruined it for myself. But Riley can go to hell if he thinks he’s singing my songs.”
Mira’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait. The label wants to sub him in on vocals? He’s good, but he’s not that damn good.”
They laughed, and for a second it almost felt normal. Then Mira’s smile went, and her focus drifted to a distant corner of the room. “You were right that night at the bar, you know. I let him hurt me, and I still thought maybe I could change him.”
Jay tightened his jaw until his teeth ached. “The only thing that will change him is a fucking lawsuit.”
“But who’d believe me over Riley fucking Thorne?” She wouldn’t look at him when she added, “He’s more important than me.”
“Samira.” His voice came out fierce. “He is not more important than you.”
Her chin trembled as she fought to let the words sink in.
She took in a shuddering breath. “If this gets out, people will think I’m stupid.
After everything, I kept going back.” Her voice dropped.
“He kept saying he loved me, and I believed him because he made me feel like I couldn’t live without him.
And I thought I could fix things. Like I was the problem. ”
Jay opened his mouth. Closed it.
“That’s what abuse does,” he said. “It makes you think you’re the problem.”
Jay watched the realization settle into the lines of her face.
Then, the weight of his own words swung back like a pendulum, hitting him square in the chest. The rot he’d always felt at his center—the belief that he was the common denominator in every disaster—suddenly felt less like a personality trait and more like a symptom. He’d grown up in that house, too.
“But you’re not,” he said, quieter. “You never were.”
Mira leaned into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He held her, feeling her frame shake against his, and didn’t let go for a long time.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” he whispered into her hair.
She eventually pulled away, dabbing at her eyes around the splint. “I’m sorry I called you a dumbass.”
“No you’re not.”
“You’re right. I’m not.”
She drew in a shaky breath, then another. When she’d steadied, Jay forced himself to his feet, the room pitching to the left.
He shook his head, willing himself to get it together. “I made dal and potatoes last night. We never ate. Want some?”
Mira nodded, but her eyes held a question.
“What?” he asked.
“Promise not to drink today?”
The urge clawed at him—already, just thinking about making it through the day without a drink made his skin crawl. In rehab, medication had dulled the edge, but now it was just him against the pull.
“I can try,” he said, the honesty tasting bitter.
“Then let’s eat.” She stood slowly, bracing her ribs. “And maybe you can teach me how to cross-stitch.”
Jay felt a corner of his mouth twitch. “Teaching you anything makes me want to drink more.”
“You’re such an asshole.” She launched a pillow at him, then immediately clutched her side with a hiss. “I’m serious, though. I need a distraction too.”
“Fine, but no whining about how tedious it is. That’s kind of the whole point.”
“Deal.”
Mira made her way to the kitchen, one hand pressed to her side. She paused at the island, making a small sound of recognition as she picked up a notebook—his journal, the one he’d filled with letters to Ava during their separation.
“I may have snatched this,” she admitted, sliding it across the island toward him. “Ava left it out at her place, and I’m nosy. When you’re ready to stop seeing yourself as the villain, read this.”
“It’s my journal. I know what’s in it.”
“There are new entries, dingus.”
Jay flipped it open, his thumb catching on a page marked with yesterday’s date in Ava’s tight, elegant handwriting.
She’d written back.
“You two are disgusting,” Mira grumbled, now out of sight and shuffling things around in the kitchen. He heard the clink of glass as she attempted to reach the plates in the top cabinet. “All that shit about being devoted to one another. Who actually does that?”
Clutching the journal, he tried to muster the courage to read Ava’s words, but his head was too foggy. If she’d written to him, she deserved his clarity.
He laid the journal back on the island and followed his sister into the kitchen.
“How many times have I told you we need a step stool in here?” he said, reaching over her for the plates.
“I can reach them just fine.”
“In what universe?” He set the ceramic on the counter. “Sit. I’ll handle the food.”
Mira perched on one of the bar stools, tracking his every move. “You know you’re gonna have to talk to her eventually.”
“I know.”
“Like, today eventually.”
Jay pulled the container of curry from the fridge. At least he’d managed to put it all away properly. “I know.”
“Do you, though? Because your track record—”
“Mira.” He met her eyes. “I know. I just...I need to not be hungover and panicking when I do it.”
She studied him for a long moment, then nodded. “Fair.”
He divided the dal and curry between two plates and put them in the microwave. While they heated, he leaned against the counter, burying his face in his hands.
“I really fucked up,” he said quietly.
“Yeah. You did.” Mira’s voice was gentle. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t fix it.”
The microwave beeped. Jay pulled the plates out and heated the rotis. He set a plate in front of Mira. She didn’t thank him and stared at the steam rising from the dal.
“But yeah. You fucked up.” Mira continued as he slid a spoon across the counter toward her. “But I’m still here, aren’t I? And Ava’s still writing in your damn book. So stop acting like you’re already a ghost.”
Jay didn’t respond. He leaned his weight against the counter, watching her hand tremble. The voice in his head told him a single shot would make his hands stop shaking, too.
Instead of seeking out Ari’s stash, he grabbed his own plate and climbed onto the stool beside her, his shoulder nearly brushing hers.
They ate in silence.